Snapshots
by elfx9
Summary: Some snapshots of Ste and Brendan's life together from 2013 onwards, removing the fact that Brendan went to prison.


**I got a lot of requests to write another like 'Parading it Around' so I started to write lots of different 'drunk snapshots'. But then it turned into general snapshots… so forgive the fact it's all a bit random and all a bit of nothing really, but I'll probably continue it in the same vein. **

**I hope you enjoy anyhoo. **

**XOXOXOXOX**

**The morning after, August 2013.**

"Bren…?"

They're stretched out lazily on the bed, half-naked and half-tangled amongst the covers. Surrounded by remainders of the heavy night before; Ste's empty beer cans, Brendan's empty whisky bottle, a wardrobe door that hangs off its hinges, condom wrappers and a clumsy mess of shoes and clothes and wallets and mobiles tossed into every corner.

Today, naturally, has been comparatively sluggish. Both nursing headaches, they've barely said a word to each other all day… just slumbered side by side, occasionally shuffling to the kitchen or bathroom before falling back onto the bed with a groan.

But when Ste speaks, Brendan immediately detects the air of carefulness… like he might have been wanting to say what he's going to say for a long time.

"Hm?"

"I was thinkin' – and you can say no!"

"What?"

"D'ya think we should get like… like a dog or somethin'?"

Brendan frowns – tenses. A dog? Why? Because that's what all gay couples do? Dick and Harry with their Chihuahua tucked under their limp-wristed arms? Is that _them _now? Really?

Or is Brendan's sole company just not satisfactory enough anymore?

And there he was thinking he'd fucked Ste good last night.

"Well…" Brendan clears his throat, awkward for some reason. "Well where would we keep it?"

Ste frowns, as if Brendan's stupid.

"I dunno… we've got a whole spare room if you're thinkin' of decoratin' for him."

"Oh, it's a 'him' is it? What, you already picked it out?!"

"No! I was just thinkin' it'd be quite cool."

_Quite cool. _Brendan tries momentarily to imagine Steven with a dog… enjoying a good dog-wrestle and face-lick one minute, but bored of the idea about a week or so afterwards. And then what? Brendan gets stuck with the damn thing. Harry on his own, taking his Chihuahua to the club.

"Dogs need lots of attention." He reasons.

"Yeah, well, we both run businesses, don't we? We can be with him any time we want. Or 'her'."

"Not 'her'." Brendan says automatically, "Pain in the arse."

"Alright 'he' then!" Ste says, sitting up, beaming – like that's that decided.

"Hold on, I didn't say yes."

"Well you 'aven't said 'no' either. C'mon… I can proper imagine you with a dog, y'know! One of them one with whiskers – what are they called?"

"I don't know." Brendan says, somehow managing to sound overly-defensive about it.

"Yeah, well I imagine you with one of _them_, anyway."

Brendan thinks about this proposition.

How bad could it be, really?

He can sort of see the appeal. Something that's both of theirs, besides the mortgage. Something that's gonna make a bit more noise around the place, maybe stop Ste pining for the kid-created havoc. More racket for Brendan to moan about, more mess for him to clean up, more attention for him to compete with.

"Well what would we call it?"

Ste grins, eyes lit.

"Dunno!" He says chirpily, happy merely to be having the discussion. "… 'Dildo'!?"

Brendan laughs, one that's real and hearty and reserved almost purely for Ste and Cheryl.

But then turns immediately serious, comments, "No, that's cruel."

"What d'you wanna call him then?"

"Bruce."

The answer is surprisingly immediate. Brendan doesn't even know where that came from… but finds himself dead set on it.

"Bruce?! That wouldn't suit a whisker dog."

"Well I don't want a whisker dog."

"A proper hard dog then – like one of them pitball terriers." Ste says, "You can't call one of _them_ 'Bruce'."

Brendan realises he's _serious. _

"No way, we're not havin' one of those."

"Why not?!" Ste cries.

"Becausethey're ugly. We've got appearances to maintain."

Fuck… what's he even _saying?! _Next he'll be _insisting upon _the fucking Chihuahua!

"Well what do _you_ want then?" Ste demands, pouty.

"I dunno. Somethin' that doesn't shit everywhere; I'm not dealin' with that."

"Kay…"

"And if I go for a run, I need him to keep up with me – we're not having some fat little shit that doesn't do anything."

Ste laughs in that endearingly graceless way of his; enjoying himself. So much so that he rests his head back on Brendan's lap, and coaxes…

"Kay, what else?"

"He's gotta be a real man too; we don't want somethin' that's gonna be runnin' away from the other dogs – he's gonna have to stand up for himself. Specially if we call him 'dildo'."

"Yeah!" Ste grins, "Yeah, we'll get a proper lad – one of them rude-boys."

"Exactly."

"Just type into Google '_really mint dogs'._"

"Hm." Brendan agrees shortly. Better to be agreeable and then just do the job properly later, when Steven's asleep or something.

After a week of disagreements regarding breeds, names and parenting-styles, they put the 'dog conversation' down to a drunkern moment of madness. But Brendan's grown a fondness for the idea, and harbours a secret affection for the dog they'll eventually get when they're old. The whisker-dog, if that's what Steven _really _wants.

/

**Chez Chez, Mitzeee's Hen Night, October 2013.**

Brendan's got him over the desk – arse in the air, legs spread, fingers gripping the edge, forehead rested against the wood as he pants incoherently, "Urrr fuck… omugod...".

He's even louder when he's drunk. Indiscreet even at the best of times, but get a few beers down him and it's like he loses all sense of dignity and decorum.

Brendan removes his tongue and gives Ste's arse a sharp slap instead to bring him back to Earth, remember where they are… Brendan's office, their 'home from home' in these situations, and just a doorframe away from Mitzeee and her gaggle of female friends.

"Ouch." Steven mumbles to himself, almost as though he's forgotten he's got company, and turns to shift himself clumsily onto the desk.

He sits there, shameless in all his naked glory and takes another swig from the beer bottle. His eyes are glinting mischievously.

Brendan's still stone cold sober, and suited. This is what happens when he lets Steven visit him at work.

"I wanna fuck behind the bar." Ste says thoughtfully.

"Yeah? You don't think that'll be a bit off-putting for the girls?"

Ste laughs goofily… a bit of beer dribbles down his chin. Brendan swipes it away with his thumb before pushing the digit into his mouth, making the most of his drunken compliance.

But even a mouthful doesn't stop Steven talking, and he continues to mumble into Brendan's thumb – "Where're them strippers?"

Brendan takes his thumb out, disappointed by the lack of sucking and saliva.

It always gets like this with an alcohol-induced Steven: sexual and talkative in equal measures until he's not really sure what he wants, or how to do both at once.

"Strippers?" Brendan asks dryly.

"You said there were strippers comin'."

"Yeah. For Anne."

"Not for us?"

"I've already stripped _you_, and I'd like to do a little more than that."

"You can!" Ste falls onto his back and puts his legs up – one of the most casual displays of crudity that Brendan's ever seen.

He laughs. Lowers himself down and pushes his tongue into Ste's mouth, mumbles, "You're filthy, ye know that?" against his lips.

"Hold on…" Ste mutters… and his nose is scrunched up and he tenses...

… and it takes both of them too long to work out what's happening… before Steven has sneezed square in Brendan's face.

There's a moment of silent horror – Brendan pulling back in bafflement soon to turn into disgust. But before he can even express it Ste has BURST into laughter; uncontrollable, ungraceful – wild howls of amusement as he stares into Brendan's frowning face.

"The fuck was that?!" Brendan snaps, a rare whiny element to his tone… a _strop._

"It wasn't on purpose!" Ste sniggers; helpless to sober even in the face of Brendan's pissed off attitude.

"You're disgusting."

"Ah c'mon, it's just me spit!"

"It's fucking snot it's…" Brendan checks his suit for incrimination, "Disgusting." He mutters under his breath.

His displeasure only makes the situation more hilarious.

This time when Ste laughs he's halfway through a swig of larger. It sprays… drenching the desk and his own front… fizzing in his nose.

Brendan just stares at him, perturbed by such behaviour.

"The hell is wrong with you?!" He cries, incredulous.

Ste's stomachhurts he's laughing so hard. Brendan looks hilarious as fuck when he's in a sulk.

"You're not gettin' sex now." Brendan says simply.

"Ah, don't be such a baby!"

"The boner's gone."

"Well mine 'asn't!" Ste cries, like the gobby little shit he is, "So c'mere and sort it – NOW!"

Bloody fucking hell, he's shameless when he's like this. Vulgar, argumentative, kinky, ridiculous … and a harsh taskmaster. Brendan likes it. He fucking _loves _every little bit of it, even if that does include a face full of snot… he'll take it from him.

He loves the gross fuck.

/

**Moving In, December 2013**

Ste doesn't know whether it was a conscious decision or not… but they haven't move from Ste's flat until now… a year into their relationship.

Perhaps it's the date telling them they _can _do it and the world won't implode… or perhaps they were just strangely comfortable in that small slum-ish space.

Still, _this _place is _so _much more Brendan in a way that Ste likes.

It's just a flat… three bedrooms like before… but it's suave and well-furnished; radiates power and success and contentment. It's the kind of place Ste used to resent when he was a kid; the kind of place where you _knew _the person inside had made it. And now he's one of them.

"St… Steven…" Brendan snaps, irritated, "That's too much paint."

"I think I know how to paint a wall, Brendan."

"Do ye?! Really?! The floor doesn't think so!"

"It's wood! It'll come right off!"

"No it won't, actually! You're damn lucky I'm puttin' carpet down."

"What… carpet?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't agree to that!"

"Well why wouldn't ye?"

"What if Lucas spills 'is drink all over it or summit? You're not spendin' loads on a carpet – it's stupid."

Brendan sighs, massages his head.

He points at the red paint dripping all over the floor at Ste's painting station.

"So we're gonna keep this ruined wood then, yeah? Great."

"Uggghhhh!" Ste groans, "You're such a drama queen, you! It adds _character._"

"No it doesn't." Brendan says shortly

"Right, well we'll just put a table or somethin' over it then. Why are you bein' so stressy?! It's supposed to be fun movin' in!"

"It would be fun if I was moving in by _myself._"

"Oh right, fine." Ste snaps. He drops the paint-brush into the can, splashing more red onto the wood and skirting boards. "_You _enjoy it then."

He stomps out of the house as fast as his sulky little arse can carry him and Brendan is momentarily absorbed in exactly _that… _until the front door slams and he realises their 'big day' has turned into yet another episode between them.

He sighs. He turns to the mess that already contaminates his brand new floors and wonders whether Steven was just intent on making it more slum-like; more in keeping with the home they made back in the council estate. Where everything seemed _right _and _settled _and _possible _for them… for the first time ever.

Maybe Ste picks up on Brendan's own fears and reservations about taking this next big step. Everything's changing again. Everything's new and fresh again, when Brendan was just starting to accept that this was really happening for them.

_If it all falls apart now… NOW… it'll destroy us. _

The fucking floors don't matter a damn bit.

Steven can hammer massive holes and make Brendan jump over them for all he cares… and for all the difference it would make.

He swigs back a few glasses of whisky and then to prove his point he flicks red paint all across the living room floorboards. He doesn't know whether it's passionate and liberating… or whether a bad foresight into the future war-zone.

Either way, Steven doesn't get it.

"… Is this meant to be takin' the mick?" He frowns.

"No it's… decoratin'." Brendan answers.

"It's a mess." Ste blinks.

"_Our _mess."

"Well… not really… _you're _mess. My bit's just in the corner where you coulda put a tabl…"

Brendan cuts him off with a firm kiss; assuring, passionate, _ready._

They're so ready for this; the shared mortgage and bills and decorating and everything.

When they fall to the floor and make love there, their naked bodies get _covered _in the freaking paint… and again one could fear they look like a bloody warzone. But no. It's exciting and passionate and thrilling… and later, in the shower, the red runs down the drain and disappears.

Red has always been their colour anyway.

/

**Discontentment, April 2014 **

Something's put Ste in a bad mood, but Brendan doesn't know what.

But he's sulky. Not in his usual cute stuck-out-bottom-lip way. But in a genuine way, where he covers it behind chirpy smiles and sources of distraction; "We deffo need another holiday, don't we?!"… "D'ya think we should get a takeaway tonight? We 'aven't had one for ages!"… "Brendan, NOTHING is wrong!"

Eventually Brendan gets to the bottom of it, but only when he finds a crumpled letter in the dustbin.

_Dear Steven Hay_

_Thank you for attending the interview for the chef role at 'Carbonara'. We regret to tell you that we have gone with somebody else for the role._

_Regards,_

_Julia Warrensmith _

"You applied for a job at a restaurant?" Brendan asks him later that evening.

He perhaps picks his timing wrong. Ste's _just _got home from work… walked through the door five seconds ago and is now kicking his shoes off. He still wears the subtle signs of tiredness that he fashioned when Brendan visited him in the lunch hour; the impatience, the air of being completely fed up.

"You been snoopin' through me stuff?!" He shoots back immediately, fatigue transforming to irritation.

Brendan ignores it and continues, "What's wrong with the deli?"

Ste sighs, massages his forehead, "Nothin'."

"Since when've you been lookin' for jobs? Why didn't ye tell me?!"

"Because! Because… I knew you'd tell me to come work at the club. And… I don't wanna do that."

Brendan blinks, stung.

"See, an' I knew that you'd be like this!"

"Like what?!" Brendan cries.

"You'd get all mad about me not wantin' to work there."

"Well I don't get why you've written it off straight away." Brendan reasons, "If you hate the deli, you could set up a eating area upstai…"

"No, I just told you I don't want to!" Ste snaps. "And I bet you're not gonna let it go now, are ya?"

"I'm givin' it to you on a plate! Why _wouldn't _you want it?!"

"I don't want it on a plate, Brendan! I jus'…." Ste licks his lips, struggling to find the words. "I wanted to… y'know, do somethin' _good… _like a restaurant. But nowhere will give me a job. I'm rubbish."

He blinks, embarrassed. He hates exposing his 'inadequacies', even to Brendan. And yet he's so quick to lumber himself with them.

"You're not." Brendan says firmly.

"Then why won't anyone take me, eh? Practically got laughed out of the Rowland House."

"How many interviews have you been to? I coulda helped you."

Ste shrugs, "It was a stupid idea anyway." And then he adopts that fake lightness in his tone that Brendan hates, "I've already got a job, ain't I?!"

"Hey,"

Brendan grabs Ste's wrist as he makes to walk away… pulls him back into the kitchen, close against Brendan.

"You're amazing." He says deeply; the low rumble in his voice reflecting his sincerity. "M'sorry ye didn't get it."

Ste smiles against him; small and reluctant but the most genuine smile he's fashioned all day.

"S'alright." He mutters, "'m just disappointed."

"Yeah."

Ste unravels himself, not detached but perhaps embarrassed by his failed ambitiousness. Brendan watches him go as he collapses onto the sofa and picks up the playstation control.

"Talk to me next time." Brendan calls after him, not ready to drop the subject yet.

Sometimes he wants to take Steven's independence and crush it, throw it away, because it scares him more than anything – that lack of control. But it's also the thing he loves most about him; that determination and strength.

Steven won't take a job at the club; later explains with a small eye-roll that he and Brendan would only argue too much, and he doesn't want to be called 'clingy and needy' at his workplace. The irony of the statement being Brendan's now the one being clingy and needy, suggesting part-time shifts or weekend work.

Brendan pushes him through two 'I give up' periods and eleven interviews in total before Ste's offered a kitchen staff role in a swanky place uptown. That day he comes to Chez Chez, launches himself at Brendan with his legs wrapped around Brendan's waist in front of _all _the staff, and cries "WHAT A BLOODY LEGEND! That's me, by the way!"

/

**A work do, August 2014**

Ste's work mates are a mismatched collection of annoyingly loud and overbearingly confident kitchen staff. And tonight they've dragged him out and somehow Ste's managed to drag Brendan out with them all. They sit at a table in a pub and Brendan feels like he's babysitting a bunch of teenagers as they bang the table and chant things and down shots they can't handle.

To the outside eye, Ste fits in with them. He's the same age and after a few pints he can match them in terms of gobbiness. It's only Brendan that would notice when Ste goes quiet and his eyes glaze over, momentarily tired of putting the effort in. Because somehow it _is_ effort for him to be part of a 'group'. Stripped back to his most natural form, he's hardly any more social than Brendan is.

So when the dancing starts and Ste's consumed enough alcohol not to care about being polite anymore, it ends up being just the two of them, away from the rest.

And it would appear during the exasperated 'pre drink' session, Brendan may have had a little more to drink than originally anticipated. He can't keep his hands of Ste. He's vaguely aware somewhere in the back of his mind that he wouldn't be doing this sober, but the drunk part of him leers, careless, 'ah, screw it!'.

He has his arms folded around Steven's waist, his stomach pressed against Steven's back, his chin rested on Steven's shoulder. He sways back and forth to the music, his crotch pushing suggestively into Steven's arse so that when the song picks up it's all too easy for Ste to grind himself back against it. Fucking _grinding _like horny teenagers themselves, right in the middle of a heaving club.

Brendan buys Ste a vodka and coke with a straw and holds it for him to drink… never separating from their entwined position. He watches, fascinated and becoming hard, as Ste's plump lips suck on the tip.

"Love you." Steven calls over the music. His mouth is twisted into a flirtatious grin but his eyes are more sincere and meaningful.

It's amazing what a bit of public grinding can do.

**/**

**Sick Day, April 2015**

"S'the matter?" Brendan asks, as Ste shuffles out of the bedroom.

He's clearly feeling sorry for himself; wrapped in the dressing gown they share, watery eyes, red nose, and now snuggling up underneath Brendan's arm; nuzzling in there.

"Thought you were gettin' some sleep." Brendan points out, fingers trailing through Ste's hair.

"What you watchin'?"

"I dunno, some BBC shit."

"D'you wanna watch a film with me?" Ste snuffles, voice nasal from his cold.

"I got a couple of guys comin' over – business stuff."

"What, now?"

"Few minutes."

"You're s'pposed to be lookin' after me!"

"I am!" Brendan argues, and simultaneously hoists Steven into the air in a bridal-carry, provoking a wave of half-hearted, croaky protests from his lover.

"What ya doin'?!" Ste lets out a honk of laughter that turns into a cough; harsh and violent.

"I'm puttin' ye to bed."

"Don't you want me to meet your mates?!"

Brendan drops Steven onto the mattress with a heavy thud; his compassion and care not extending far enough to softly lower him.

"Oy." Ste grumbles, and gives Brendan a hard nudge with his foot.

"Just give me an hour or so with these guys, then I'll be all yours." Brendan says.

Ste begrudgingly stays in the bedroom, all of bored and miserable and embarrassingly in need of a hug as he listens to Brendan open the door for these 'business people'… whoever the hell they are.

He hears them talk in low deep voices, first something about _'the wife' _and then _'nice little earner, that, if you're interested.' _and _'s'got his cock too far up his own arse, he has'._

Ste reaches idly for his phone… taps in a message.

To: Brendan

Is that yorcoCk that they R talkin bout? x

A couple of seconds pass by… silence out in the living room, but then a distinct huff of laughter from Brendan. Ste smiles to himself, satisfied. A text bleeps back.

From: Brendan

Didn't no one tell you to mind your own business, boy?

The voices start up again. One of the blokes has a silky London accent and Ste hears him murmur glossily to the others… _'It's a quick job; in, out, low risk and you're not anywhere near it. Just a nice bit of profit… spend it on your fella, Brendan.'_

To: Brendan

That bloke sounds wel hot.

'_Oh yeah, and who's doing the dirty work then? That gimp you've got trailin' on after ya? I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw 'im!'_

From: Brendan

You want me to send him in there for you?

Ste grins. Brendan may be joking now, but Ste can bet that last text stirred a _little _jealously in him at least. He can imagine him out there now, talking business and dealings but feeling hot and bothered, trying to hide it.

'_What do you say, Brendan?'_

'_Yeah, I wasn't listening – say it again.'_

Knew it.

To: Brendan

Keep im talkin will u?

'_It's low risk, high profit – It's something we do monthly to generate more… Br… Brendan…'_

The door bursts open and before Ste knows it Brendan is marching towards him. Ste is pushed against the pillow by Brendan's tongue in his mouth; possessive, punishing… the hottest fucking kiss Ste's ever received in such a high-temperature state.

"You're pushin' your luck." Brendan says firmly, but his eyes twinkle with sexiness and mischief and Ste _knows_ he's enjoying this.

"Get rid of 'em." He breathes.

"You don't just _get rid _of these people."

Ste pulls Brendan in for another kiss, this one longer and deeper and he feels Brendan hardening against his thigh.

"Get rid of 'em." He repeats. It's a plea, and one that Brendan is becoming more helpless to deny.

Ste has a big stupid smile and sticks his phone between his teeth to control it as Brendan re-enters the living room and speaks to his visitors;

'_Sorry fellas, something's come up; we're gonna have to move this little meeting to some other time.'_

When the other men have gone, they don't even have sex; Ste's coughing fits bursting out of him too frequently and harshly for him to truly attempt romance. But that's ok… Brendan didn't get rid of the guys for sex. He seems alright just to lay here, pretending not to care by telling Ste to 'man up'… but then showing the opposite by bringing him drinks and tissues.

"You're gonna get all me germs, you know." Ste points out groggily.

"S'alright. I can take it."

"In sickness and in health, innit?"

His words are met with silence. The issue of marriage has not gone unspoken in their circles, what with Cheryl all too often asking _when_ it's going to happen… but it's never really been addressed between the two of them. Not that that's what Ste was doing… but he can tell his choice of words have had the same affect.

"Hm." Brendan says after a while.

He sounds thoughtful, and it makes Ste smile stupidly again.


End file.
